The Chariot (Reunite)
by orsumfenix
Summary: You wouldn't expect the afterlife to be a train. For some reason it is.


_**This is me wanting to work on my description more than anything, due to the fact that it's something I'm rubbish at so I always tend to leave it out. Hence the lack of much** _**actual _storyline, just kind of... description. Still, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. _**

**_Disclaimer - unfortunately for me, I don't own. _**

When One wakes up, she's on a train.

She doesn't seem to be heading anywhere, that's for certain. The landscape outside rushes past at an immense speed, so fast that it makes her feel sick just to focus on the window. The swallows back the bile and studies her surroundings instead, taking in every detail she is able to.

It seems like your average Earth train, with pastel blue walls and rows of much darker blue seats. They seem well worn, with fraying edges the occasional rip in the seat and a sliver of white fluff poking out, but they don't seem abnormal. If anything, the train is as ordinary as you can _get_, with nothing special or different to define itself as unique.

Which is strange, because she doesn't remember getting on board one.

In fact, the last thing she remembers is _dying_, if One can recall correctly. A sword pierced through her back, making a rip in the skin and making her freeze up at the sheer _pain _of it. Then a whole load of silence, like when you first go underwater and the world is blocked out and numbed around you. She had felt awash with peace as her vision went dark, and then she woke here.

And now she is alone.

One stands up and walks around, trying to ignore the, frankly, _frightening _speed the outside seems to be going at. The blue (the whole train is almost overwhelming with the whole _blueness _of it all – navy, turquoise…) carpet makes no sound as she steps on it, taking in her white converse and white jeans. In fact, from what she can tell, her entire outfit is white, and she's pretty sure that when she died (died, died, she can't _actually_ be dead, right?). No, she was wearing a purple top, her jeans were an ordinary blue and her converse were red.

Her entire outfit has been recoloured.

It's freakishly silent as she walks towards the back of the carriage, and it occurs to her that _nothing _is making a sound, not the wheels outside or the hum of the engines (does the train even _have _engines?) or even the thump of her heartbeat. No, the world is silent, and only then does she realise that maybe this means she _is _dead, after all.

Beyond her carriage is darkness. One can see nothing past the glass door that she knows is meant to slide for her, or at least, it would in a _normal _train. But, despite appearances, this is isn't a normal train, she knows that now. This train is different, false, perhaps only really existing in her mind.

It's creeping her out slightly, so she goes and sits back down where she woke up, on a seat at the very front of the carriage, and waits.

(Though what she's waiting _for_, she doesn't exactly know.)

It takes a while, and to be honest she's surprised that she doesn't go mad in the time that it does take (but time seems to blend together here, and she could have woken up several minutes ago or five years), but eventually the carriage door behind her swings open, and someone walks through.

It's not a ticket man, like she was half expecting, but is instead a little girl, probably only about twelve or thirteen, no older than that. She has lovely, curly red hair resting in ringlets around her face, matching the equally as red freckles that lay splashed across her cheeks. She reminds One of a fox, vaguely, especially with the casual-yet-graceful way she seems to enter with.

When the girl catches sight of the blonde, her shoulders slump, and she sighs slowly, looking as though she's about to cry. Her outfit, too, is completely white, and One would be willing to bet her life that that pretty top and those baggy yet feminine pants weren't always that colour. Is this girl dead too? As selfish as it sounds, One kind of hopes so. It would be nice to have some company, and, who knows, maybe the girl has some answers?

"I'm dead, aren't I?" the girl says in a soft and sad voice, looking at the floor and shuffling as though she's timid, scared even. It slightly startles One, who suddenly realises that it's the first sound she's heard ever since she arrived here.

"Probably," she agrees, resisting the urge to grin like a loon when she discovers that her voice still somehow miraculously works after not using it for so long. "I'm pretty sure I am, anyway." One lets out a bitter laugh, trying not to wince at how ridiculous she must sound. The girl – who she's now decided to dub 'Foxy' – must agree, because she simply stares at her with fear present in her eyes and making no move to sit beside the blonde.

One sighs, shifting slightly on her seat, spreading an arm (tanned, she realises, especially against the white of her t-shirt).

"Sit down, I won't bite," she encourages, wishing that she had more experience with dead people (or just people in general, really). Seeing Foxy's look of obvious discomfort, she sighs and forces an obnoxiously cheerful grin onto her face, trying not to hurl at the way her lips feel so strange after being not-smiling for so long. "It's safe, I promise."

Foxy seems unsure, probably doubting the blonde's sanity, but she seems to realise that she's already dead, anyway, so One wouldn't be able to hurt her if she tried.

And so Foxy takes a seat beside the other girl, tensing when One wraps an arm around her shoulders and sighs dramatically.

"Shame we couldn't meet under better circumstances," she declares, mind racing at a million miles an hour as she connects the dots and figures out who this girl might be. "But I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're Number Two, right?"

Foxy looks surprised at her deduction skills, but only hesitates a moment before nodding, curly ringlets bobbing with her head as it moves up and down.

"Yeah," she confirms quietly, hands messing with the bottom of her top nervously. "And you – you're One?"

Said Garde nods, her own blonde hair falling in her face slightly as she does so. She's certainly got some… _interesting _stories to tell, and she's sure that the same goes for Two.

It seems like only mere hours before they are joined by someone else, but she's sure it's probably been longer, seeing as the two have managed to recount virtually their whole lives to each other. Both One and Two stare at the door as it swings open, waiting to see who's going to arrive and give them more news about the life that they missed out on (so young, the both of them, far too young to be dead), exchanging glances of surprise as the newcomer enters their carriage.

It's a boy, this time, but not as tough and strong as they'd expect, not a soldier of any shape or form. He's quite skinny, but tanned, with deep, rich brown hair and eyes almost as brown and endless. He's clearly a thinker, the philosophical type, not made to fight (which is probably why he's here, to be honest). But, unlike Two, he looks oddly at peace with the fact that he's here, resigned to his fate. Most likely he knew he was going to die before he did, and managed to come to terms with it there and then.

If he seems shocked at anything, it's the fact that he's on a _train_, no less (One and Two have had many laughs over the fact the afterlife is a train, of all things), but when his drifting gaze settles on them he offers a nervous smile and approaches. He seems to be somewhere in between their two ages, quite young in the eyes, wearing the same shade of white that they are.

"Let me guess," One drawls just as the boy reaches them, the blonde grinning widely. "Three?"

If he had been anyone else, he probably would have looked confused and wondered why a random girl was saying a number, but as it is he knows exactly what she's talking about and responds accordingly.

"Yeah," he replies, studying the two before sitting on one of the seats on the row across from them and running a hand through his hair. "And you're One and Two, I'm guessing?"

The two girls nod in unison, twin grins plastered on their faces.

Three nods.

"Cool."

The duo becomes a trio then, all three of them discussing stories and Three updating the girls on what they missed while they were dead (they're not dead, they can't be dead – why is she still in denial?), Two and One both retelling their stories the newest member of the Dead Garde Club, while Three listens carefully before telling his own story of how he died.

When the fourth person arrives, the trio like to think that they know virtually everything there is to know about each other, that they're experts on lives that aren't even their own. One has described the others (still alive, why do _they _get to live?) as best she can, and, if she's honest, is fully expecting a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, Number Four, to walk in next, which is why she's surprised when it turns out to be… well, not him.

It _is _a boy, just not Number Four. This guy has copper skin and curly black hair and greener-than-green eyes, with a _too _happy grin plastered on his face and the white outfit that the rest of them have. When he spots them, his grin falters slightly, before it's back full force (but obviously false this time).

"Hey," he greets cheerfully, moving towards them. "I'm going to assume that I _am _dead, then?"

A nod is the silent response the guy receives from all three of the others, making him frown briefly before smiling again.

"But you're not Number Four," Two states plainly, face grim. She's clearly worked out what One has – that the charm must be broken, and the real fight has probably already begun.

The guy shakes his head, wild curls going everywhere and reminding One slightly of Two, his grin fading slightly as he adopts a more serious expression.

"No," he admits quietly, sitting beside Three by the window and leaning back on the seat. "I'm Eight."

The others all introduce themselves, with varying degrees of curiosity and sadness. If _Eight _is dead, supposedly second-to-last, then that means that anyone could be next. It could be Four, it could be Nine, and it doesn't have a limit on it anymore. _Everyone _could die, all in one go.

"So Eight," Three finally says, leaning forwards and eyes sparkling with excitement. "What's been going on?"

And so Number Eight launches into an explanation about his life, getting more enthusiastic as he gets on to when he met the others and started training with them. He takes his time describing each and every one of them, making sure to get as much information right as possible and not leave out any important details. An obvious blush tinges his cheeks as he gets to talking about Number Seven (or Marina, as she apparently prefers), and it isn't hard to tell who he has a crush on.

When he recounts Five's betrayal, leading to his own death, it ignites a spark of fury inside of One, making her feel fury on a scale she's never even imagined before. She can't help but twist her face into a scowl, and Two and Three's expressions mirror hers.

"That _bastard_," she growls, clenching her fists and resisting the urge to punch someone.

"One!" Two exclaims, looking horrified at how the blonde has chosen to phrase it. But Three seems to agree with the older girl, shaking his head slowly and virtually _quivering _with anger.

"Hey, it's alright!" Eight tries to reassure, looking _unspeakably _uncomfortable and shuffling nervously on his seat. "I mean… it's not as if we can get him _here_, right? We're dead, and he's not, so…" The boy trails off, but the end of his sentence is left hanging in the air. _We're dead, and we can't do anything to help. _

"I guess so," One grudgingly admits, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. "But when _he _dies, he better not try coming here."

All three of the others seem to agree, and silence reigns once more.

The fifth person to join them is a pretty brunette, with sea-blue eyes and soft pale skin. Her eyes seem kind of hollow, gaunt, and her body is horribly thin (like you could snap it, like it's nothing more than a twig). But the haunted expression on her face seems to change once she sees Eight, running forwards and enveloping him in her arms. Her grin is wide, her eyes sparkle, and she seems so much happier than she did a few seconds ago.

One guesses that this is Marina.

Eight, too, seems elated, standing up and spinning her round and smiling widely (one of his only true, genuine smiles since he first got here). Marina, for some reason is wearing a dress, a fellow white one, and, while it suits her, it almost seems to… _merge _with her pale skin, making her look like some sort of ghost (which, One supposes, she sort of is).

"Oh my god," the girl whispers, gripping Eight's face in her hands as though she can't believe that he's actually _real _and he's actually _here_. Eight looks as though he can't believe it, either gripping Marina's arms so hard One's surprised they don't come off. "You're real. You're _real._" Then she beams with such happiness it looks as if her face is going to split off.

"Yeah," he murmurs back, smiling just as widely. "I'm here. It's okay."

Then the two kiss, soft and sweet and gentle, and One has to feign feeling ill at the sight, but to be honest, she's _happy _for them. Eight's been missing Marina, she can tell, and something tells her that the other girl has missed him just as much.

Two is positively _radiating _happiness, even though it's not her who has just been reunited with her long-lost lover. Three seems just as happy for them, though he's managed to contain that joy to a simple wide smile, a replica of which One can feel tugging at her lips. Their grins are infectious.

"I missed you," Marina mutters against his face, her own resting there. Eight doesn't say anything back – just pulls her tighter towards him.

As much as she hates to, One knows that she really should break them up.

"This is all looks very purely friendly from this angle," she calls, walking over and folding her arms as the two teenagers pull apart, blushing heavily but still holding hands. "But, Eight, dude, don't you think that maybe you should introduce us to your girlfriend?" She drawls out the last word, smirking satisfied as both of their blushes darken.

"Um…" Eight rubs the back of his head sheepishly, avoiding One's narrowed blue eyes. "Guys this is Number Seven, but she goes by Marina. Mar, this is One, Two and Three." He gestures lamely at them, accidently pointing at Two and Three in the wrong order before quickly correcting himself. "I mean, _this _is Two and _this _is Three."

Three snickers, holding his hands up in an innocent gesture when Eight shoots him a dark glare.

Marina laughs slightly, a light, tinkling sound that makes the whole train suddenly seem a lot more nice and pleasant.

Eight grins at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her to sit down on one the empty seats. She goes with him without complaint, leaning into his hold and looking like she's resisting the urge to just jump up and hug him and never let go (never ever, never ever let go of him, never ever, never ever ever). The sight actually sends a pang of jealousy running through One. She never got to see love like that. Wade was just a silly schoolgirl crush, she sees that now, and it's not as if she really had the chance to meet that special someone after that.

One sits back down besides Two, resisting the urge to snicker as Three realises that he's back to sitting forever alone and pouts slightly. Two, seeing his frown, rolls her eyes and moves over to sit beside him, this time leaving the blonde to be the one sitting on her own.

"So, Marina," One drawls, leaning backwards to be propped up against the wall and stretching her legs out. "How'd you die?"

Silence.

One has just made the atmosphere tense, and she can tell. Eight glares at her from next to where Marina has gone silent, eyes wide and glassy. Two draws in a sharp breath, green eyes darting about wildly as if she doesn't quite know where to focus. Three doesn't even bother pretending that he's not staring at Marina, curiosity clearly present on his face.

Before, all of the others have offered their stories, without any prompting from the others. One is already beginning to regret asking, seeing just how disturbed Marina seems to be.

Still, she thinks that they all have a right to know.

"It – it isn't a nice story," Marina says quietly, looking nervous and running her bottom lip under her teeth. "But… We heard that there was going to be a – a bomb…" Her voice stumbles on the word 'bomb' looking sick and going slightly green as if to prove it. "So we – me and Nine, we were selected to go in and stop it. We were attacked…" She trails off, before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to continue. "He was injured, and I knew that there wasn't time to heal him. He was unconscious, so I floated him outside the base and carried on.

"The bomb, it… It was supposed to go off somewhere in Chicago, but it hadn't been taken there yet. I ended up in a room with it, but… but before I could deactivate it…"

Marina breathes out shakily and reopens her eyes, so that One can see the tears glistening in them. Eight holds her tighter to him, if that's possible. He's gone pale, as though the reality that Marina's actually _dead _is finally sinking in.

"Someone must have tipped the Mogs off," she states simply. "And the bomb went off with me in the room."

A sharp intake of breath comes from Two's direction. Three looks as though he's about to be sick. Eight looks as if he's about to cry. Marina _is _crying.

One just sits and tries to not scream.

Because it just isn't _fair_, _none _of it is. They didn't _ask _to be the only survivors of a dead planet (and they're not even _survivors_ anymore), they didn't _ask _to lose their Cepan (where _are _their Cepan, anyway?), they didn't ask to _die _and end up on some god forsaken train to _nowhere_.

But that's what's happened to them, and they've never really had any choice about anything.

They don't have any choice but to wait for someone else to arrive, for someone else to join them after they've told (and retold, and retold) their stories to each other and talked about everything and anything.

When it finally happens, when someone finally arrives, it's not even someone who looks _remotely _nice. It's a tall guy with _really _long black hair and an insanely happy grin. His eyes are so dark that the irises seem to blend with his pupils, a stark contrast to the white (the same white as the rest of their clothes) baggy trousers and t-shirt he's wearing.

Guy's only just walked through the door and he's already getting on One's nerves. How can he possibly look so _happy_?

(Not _Eight _happy, where he just generally feels cheerful, but this guy is a different _kind _of happy, where he looks insane and his grin is _too _wide and flirty.)

His eyes land on One and his grin gets even _brighter _(if that's possible).

"Hey, beautiful," he purrs, winking and sliding towards her. Across the aisle, Eight rolls his eyes good-naturedly and Marina stifles a laugh. "What's your name?"

One smiles back, sweetly and innocently, feeling more like Two than herself as she does so.

"I'll give you a clue," she states, eyes rolling upwards as she pretends to be thinking about it. "You might start with it while you're counting."

His grin freezes in place, the look suddenly seeming so _wrong _and out-of-place on him, as he sits up straight and his eyes turn serious.

"Number One," he says, and it's more of a statement than a question as he looks around and takes everyone in, eyes stopping on Eight and Marina and darkening slightly. "And you're all the dead Garde." He nods, looking like he's barely managing to keep his calm contained. "Well, it's good to meet you guys. _I _am the most awesome guy you will _ever _meet," he continues, spreading his arms as his smirk becomes real. "Number Nine."

"Wow," One comments, voice full of sarcasm. "Amazing."

"I know, right?" Nine stays beside her, shuffling around and making himself comfortable. "Honestly, I'm surprised you aren't all bowing at my feet."

It's not even that funny, but somehow it manages to break the ice and Two snorts in laughter. Three joins her, and soon all six of them are laughing hysterically, out of breath but _not _because they're all dead and they don't have any.

It takes them a while to calm down from that, but once they have they are all talking and laughing like old friends, even though only half of them actually _knew _each other when they were alive. Nine has added a sort of life to the train (which is horribly ironic, seeing as they're all, well, _dead_), not afraid to laugh a booming laugh and fill the whole carriage with noise and sound and One _loves _it.

(No one asks Nine how he died. No one wants to ruin the calm – well, happiness.)

Of course, since all good things can't last, this doesn't.

A boy practically runs in, scrambling up to the seats and falling on them. One just has time to take in his golden blonde hair and blue surfer's eyes (like the sea, she notes, and takes comfort in the comparison) before he's by them, eyes wide and panicked.

"You have to run," he babbles, arms waving around as everyone gapes at him open-mouthed. "Setrakus Ra is here. He's going to kill us all…" He trails off as he stops and stares at them all, seemingly taking in every detail of their faces, before his shoulder's slump and he sits down with a sigh. "So he _has _killed me," he mutters, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly through his nostrils. "Great."

Then he peers out his eyes and straightens up slowly, seeming to be struggling to contain himself.

"Sorry about the jumpiness," he apologizes, although One really doesn't blame him. Not when they've had to keep running for practically all their lives. "It's just… Well, they kept finding us and…" His eyes finally settle on Nine, and he frowns in slight confusion. "Nine?"

"Welcome, Johnny-boy!" said Garde hoots, making One wince at the noise echoing in her eardrums. "Good to see you at last!"

'Johnny-boy's mouth moves up and down, flabbergasted, and One takes the opportunity to fully take him in. He looks like he's had it rough for… however long it's been since Nine died, from the dark circles around his eyes and the hunched way he sits. He's probably been found by the Mogs a lot, if the way his leg jiggles up and down and the habitual way he glances at the carriage door is anything to go by. His clothes have been neatened and turned white, but even by the style of the jacket and the worn-down jeans is enough to tell One that he probably hasn't had it easy. Most likely, he's a completely different person from the one the others knew.

"Guys, this is Four," Nine introduces, which One sort of gathered from her memories of the ship and the descriptions she's received of him, but appreciates the confirmation anyway. Nine opens his mouth to say something else, probably clear up the 'Johnny-boy' thing, but before he can get a single word out the carriage door (once again) opens and a calm and collected girl walks through.

The girl (though perhaps 'woman' would be the better word for her, in the same way that Four really looks more like an adult than a child now) is… gorgeous, to put it mildly. Her skin is a dark olive tone, going well with her dark black hair which is short and spiky, but oddly still works. One isn't a beauty genius, but even she knows a beautiful woman when she sees one.

Six (because that's the only person this could be, One knows) asses them all calmly, observing the tense (and slightly scared) way Two and Three sit, the happy and shocked way Marina ad Eight sit, the eager and thankful way Nine and Four sit, and, lastly, the bored and disinterested way One herself is slouched.

"You're dead," One states before Six herself can, feeling rude but not really caring at this stage. When everyone else shoots her dirty looks, she simply shrugs and grins. "What? It's not like it isn't true."

Six is the only one who doesn't seem bothered by One's comment, surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly, considering the stories she's heard about her). Instead of acting offended or anything, Six walks over and stiffly sits down beside John, greeting him with a weary smile.

"Hi," she says, voice sounded hoarse and rough, for some reason. Her clothes are as stiff as her posture, the crisp white a stark contrast with her tanned skin.

The Garde all grin at her, wide smiles and beaming faces as they greet her.

"Hey."

**_I left Ella out simply because I'm awful at writing her, and I don't think I could have done her any justice. Same with the humans - this is probably supposed to be some sort of Loric afterlife in some sort of surroundings focusing on a journey, and you can only share it with the other Loric that you made a close bond with. Don't know why the Cepan wouldn't be there. Maybe they're in another carriage. _**

**_Anyway, thanks for reading and please review! _**


End file.
